P.O.V. Richard Nox
"Another one for the Black Devils!" Mason shouted entering the Salty Skorp, the Enclave bar of Breadbasket. Having earned its reputation by the high number of Enclave personal that frequented the establishment, and the changes the owners had made to appeal more to the demographic. American and Enclave flags covered the walls along with Pre-war and current Pro-America Propaganda, a favorite of Nox's being an image of an Enclave Soldier with the phrase "Democracy is Non-Negotiable," across them.
Half of the platoon had managed to get an off shift and they were spending it drinking, for their own reasons. Some drank because it was all they could spend their caps on. Other's drank to win caps or show off to squadmates. Then, there were those who drank to drown out the pain. While the op had gone smooth, not everyone had made it back. A constant reminder that no matter what, someone had to die. Victory wasn't free, wasn't easy, and wasn't bloodless.
Mason made his way to the risen platform at the opposite end of the bar counter and grabbed the microphone sat there. Drinking wasn't the only way his men chilled out after an op. In Mason's case, it was karaoke. He tapped the mic, making it sure it was working, before beginning the song. "We might be crazy, we might be drunk, but we're sipping on whiskey and now here we come," Mason sang, albeit not well, "And we're riding dirty, this must be fate, three words are for your face, Bitch I Operate,"
His singing became the backdrop for dozens of conversations. Some about gambling, others about the upcoming Baseball game the citizens of Breadbasket were having, and so on. One conversation that persisted on the fringes contained bits of survivor's guilt. Why did I live? Why didn't I die? Why did they die? Questions Nox had asked himself many a time but had now gotten past. They were soldiers, losses were a part of their career. Didn't stop the ache though, just redirected it.
"Mind if I sit here Rich?" Keyes asked him.
"Free country, at least what's left," he answered, pulling out a chair for her. She sat down and waved down a waitress, the same one she always did. "Let me guess," the waitress said, "Thing of Klang's moonshine and sweet roll?"
"That'd be good Cass," Keyes told her.
"Anything for you lieutenant?" the woman asked Nox.
"Scotch," he answered. The waitress nodded and walked off, Keyes's eyes following her as she went. "When are you going to go?" Nox asked his subordinate, who didn't meet his gaze. "Sir, with all due respect I have no idea what you're talking about,"
"Uninterested, not blind," he told her. Whether he was picky or simply not biologically capable of romance, Nox had never felt an attraction to anyone. That being said, he still could read emotions and tells in other people, especially when they couldn't hide them very well like Keyes.
"You've been biding your time for weeks now, just ask her," he told her, "Worst thing is she says no," Keyes turned to look at him, ready to speak before he cut her off, "When your not looking I've seen how she glances at you. She feels the same. So, either grow a backbone or you are getting stuck cleaning latrines until you do," she pursed her lips.
Cass returned before Keyes could speak again, setting the drinks and the pastry down she turned to walk off before Keyes stood up. "Hey, Cass," she said.
"Yes?" the waitress asked, turning back.
"You mind…. going to lunch with me sometime soon?" the Enclave trooper asked.
The waitress blushed a little, "Yes, I would like that," before walking away, to clean off tables. Keyes sat down. Her face was first one of shock, then of joy as her smile went ear to ear. "She said yes," Keyes said, in a low voice. "What'd I tell you," Nox said, taking a sip of his scotch.
Without warning a massive explosion flared from the front of the bar, engulfing a large number of people in flame. Screams and cries of pain were prevalent. A pair of masked figures were running from the site, the words "For the Brotherhood," leaving their lips.
Nox pulled himself from the rubble, his head throbbing. He turned to Keyes, only to find a piece of metal having punctured her throat. "Damnit," he cursed, barely able to breathe. All around were the dead and wounded. Flags were burning, shattered glass covered the floor, and growing pools of blood were everywhere.
A fragile peace had been shattered, now only a justification of war sat in its place.
P.O.V. Ridger
"Did you have to break the table?" Paulson asked him after he had slammed his fist into it. The news about the bombing and the suspicions about the perpetrator were not needed. He had woken up with a bad headache, the news had only made his day worse. Compounded even more was his loss of composure in front of his men. He got control of himself and answered Paulson, "My ship, my table, I can do whatever I what with it,"
"Your ship?" Michael asked, mild bemusement in his voice.
"According to salvaging rights, yes its mine. If you want to dispute it bring it up with Charon," Ridger responded, an attempt to redirect his thoughts to humor. Barely worked. "Back to the shitstorm that's been stirred up on the surface," Paulson said, "How do we proceed?" Ridger paused before answering the man, "Not here, get Somah, Toshiro, and Fawkes. Have them head to the command room, we'll plan from there," His men nodded and ran to get the others.
"What are we going to do ma…Ridger," Charon asked, correcting himself.
"Keep the shots from firing on the surface," he answered the ghoul.
Ridger and Charon arrived after everyone else, Ridger needing to get control of his emotions. This consisted of repeatedly assaulting a series of punching bags, each of them only surviving a few blows before beginning to hemorrhage sand as he punctured them. This only made his headache worse. He also noticed that he had developed a nosebleed.
Arriving at the command room he saw that the men and woman he had requested had arrived, plus Katerina. "You are not needed Vonlasky, head back to the med bay,"
"Forgive me, but you are attempting to keep two militarist cultures that despise each other from massacring one another, while it appears that one has already engaged hostilities. There will most likely be a need for my supplies so I would like to be included in the planning,"
"Can't argue with that logic boss," Paulson said, earning a glare from Ridger.
"Alright, let's get started," Ridger said. For the next hour or so plans were tossed around, vetoed, ignored, elaborated, and more. The entire time Ridger's headache got worse and worse. "Hey boss, you good?" Paulson asked, his face covered in concern.
"I'm fine," he told the cowboy.
"Cause uh…you're bleeding from the nose," Paulson said, "Like a lot," Ridger felt just below his nose and he felt blood. He looked down at the table and saw it dripping. He tried to stand then fell. He felt his body convulse and spasm, slamming against the chair and wall. Charon and Michael were trying to grab him but Fawkes and Katerina stopped them. "Let him spasm, you'll hurt him more if you try to stop him," His spasming continued, getting more and more violent until he slammed his head against the wall extra hard and all went black.
